


Unmasked Desires

by neymovirne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Artist Harry Potter, Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Getting Together, M/M, Polyjuice Potion, Secret Identity, slight Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:55:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22515085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neymovirne/pseuds/neymovirne
Summary: Wearing another man’s face, Harry meets a stranger in a bar.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 27
Kudos: 461





	Unmasked Desires

**Author's Note:**

> Finally getting around to posting this oneshot. Many thanks to my wonderful beta for whipping it into shape.

Wrong. He is going about it all wrong, Harry thinks as his long elegant fingers wrap around the glass. Even they are wrong; he has never had such soft hands in his life. For as long as he could remember, they have been hardened and calloused by the work in Aunt Petunia’s garden, by the rough handle of a broom, by alabaster and marble and limestone—the only things that keep him tethered nowadays.

Papers chided him for his wrong choices as they brandished photos of him kissing a man in a muggle night club, yet another misstep from the wayward saviour who failed to deliver on their expectations. He stopped caring what papers were saying about him when he was fifteen and isn’t going to start again now, but it would be nice to be able to enjoy a night out without being photographed for a chance.

He hasn’t been to a club since that first time almost half a year ago, and enjoying himself is the last thing on his mind. He feels out of place here: the bar is too crowded, the music too loud. He feels out of place in this body of a random Muggle he has chosen to Polyjuice himself into, and not only because the man is older and more handsome than him. Worldly, that was the word that came to his mind when Harry saw him leaning over the railing in St. James Park and summoned a strand of his hair. Harry himself is the opposite of that. He keeps glaring at his-not-his hands, at their pampered dexterity, and aches for some clay to submerge them into.

“Only murderers and married men stare at their bare hands like that,” says a voice from his right. For a moment, the cadence reminds Harry of another person, even if its pitch is all wrong. He turns to find a man in his late thirties. He is attractive in that haughty Lucius Malfoy way, but Harry never had a thing for blonds.

“I suppose I am one of those, more or less.” He grins.

“How curious. Me too.”

Simply smashing. A married man trying to pick him up. He should tell him to fuck off to his wife and stop bothering honest men who are just trying to get plastered and maybe find the nerve to approach someone here, but he doesn’t. Instead, he lets the man buy him a drink and learns his name, Sebastian. The man makes an imperceptible pause after the first syllable, and Harry knows that like everything in this encounter, it is fake too.

“Harry,” he gives his real name, because why not.

A weird mixture of emotions flashes in the man’s eyes. There is probably another Harry he knows, important enough to give his actual name to.

“My Aunt has always hated my name. Said it was common like dirt.” Harry isn’t sure what exactly people talk about in these situations but his relatives’ distaste for him is certainly not one of these things.

But the man doesn’t seem to be bothered. “My father despised my name as well. Thought it was too odd, freakish even.”

Harry nods and doesn’t point out that ‘Sebastian’ isn’t that unusual of a name. “I’ll trade yours,” he says instead.

“I knew a Harry once,” the man says, sipping his drink. “Or maybe I didn’t, after all. He turned out to be a good man. Much more honourable than me, which I should have but somehow didn’t expect.”

Harry watches the amber liquid swirl in his borrowed hand, listening to this stranger’s second-rate voice say those things about some different Harry. Things that the owner of the original voice would never in seven hells say about him. It takes Harry by surprise how much he wants to hear them, as he hadn’t traded more than a dozen words with the man since he brought him, half-dead, from the Shrieking Shack to the Hospital Wing.

“Tell me about him, your Harry,” he asks.

“It will do us no good to dwell on the past.”

“Ha! Heard that one before. You remind me of someone, too." Harry stops short. He has clearly had too much. “Sorry. I know it’s not what one would like to hear.’

“Why, do tell.” A flash of bitterness in his blue eyes is quickly replaced by what could be a passable Lockhart impersonation. “Does he share my impossibly good looks?”

Harry laughs. "No, no. You look nothing like him, actually. It’s the voice. Something in the way you speak. I wish it wasn’t so loud here."

The man regards him oddly. Finally, he says, “We can go outside.”

Harry nods, lingering behind to quickly swallow another dose of Polyjuice. He made the batch himself and very much suspects it won’t be able to hold a full hour. The potion tastes like sawdust and regret.

They leave the bar and wind up in a graffiti-covered alley. The bassline lingers around, muted, like the thumping of Harry’s heart when the man moves in behind him, hands coming to rest on Harry’s shoulders. He puts his lips to Harry’s neck.

“You taste divine,” he says into his ear, and lowered, the voice sounds almost perfect. “You looked so lost when I saw you. I will make you forget about all of your sorrows when I touch you, every last one of them.” The words, ghosting over Harry’s skin, make him shiver. He lets his body mould itself against the one behind him. The man’s hand moves to Harry’s chest, a slow, intimate caress. “I can make you hang on the precipice of desire for however long I want with my words alone, and you will only come when I’m buried inside you, won’t you, Harry?” His hand ventures lower, to where Harry’s bulge is already straining almost painfully in his jeans.

“Yes,” Harry breathes out.

“Did he say these things, this man of yours? What would he tell you?”

The question dispels some of the magic. He lets out a laugh. “To go fuck myself, I guess. It was never like that between us. He was in love with my mum.” Harry reaches to his head in a nervous gesture but jerks it back on encountering meticulously styled hair instead of his own wild mess.

The solid weight behind him disappears abruptly, and Harry turns around, sure that he has finally weirded out ‘Sebastian’ beyond repair. Shame, because he had never been turned on this hard in his life.

The rage he faces is so familiar that no blue eyes, blond hair or compact, button nose can obscure it.

“Snape?!”

“Potter!” The man snarls, sounding remarkably like himself again. “What kind of a sick joke is this? Decided to mock me? Not that it surprises me one whit. You disgust me.”

“ _You_ hit on _me_!” Harry shouts, indignant. “Under a different face! How was I even supposed to know it’s you?!”

A couple stumbles into the alleyway, takes one look at the scene, and rushes away. Neither Harry nor Snape pays them any attention.

“Besides, what happened to a ‘good man’?”

Snape turns a furious shade of crimson his own skin would never be capable of. “Say another word about that, and it would be the last idiotic thing you said in your miserable life.” He reaches for his pocket where he must be keeping his wand; to hex him or apparate out, Harry doesn’t know.

Before he could do either, however, Harry lunges forward, grabs a fistful of Snape’s shirt, and smashes their lips together. They are too full for his liking, not at all what he imagined them when he entertained this kind of thoughts—not that he often did, putting them squarely into the realm of fantasy.

After a momentary stillness, Snape kisses back, his tongue aggressive in its demand for entrance. He cradles Harry’s face as if expecting him to come back to his senses and step back any moment now, but stepping back is the last thing on Harry’s mind. This hungry kiss is nothing like he’s ever experienced, nothing like those flaccid kisses he traded with Cho or the pliant sweetness of Ginny’s mouth, and a whole world away from that alcohol-numbed grope with a stranger in a loud club.

The cheers of the drunken crowd spilling out from the bar and stumbling past draws them apart, but Harry grips Snape’s waist to keep him from escaping.

“Let’s go to mine,” he says, emboldened by the raggedness of Snape’s breath. His heart threatens to break away from his chest. It’s easier but also harder to find the courage to say it into the strange blue eyes. “I have a motorcycle here.”

“I’m not getting anywhere near your motorcycle,” Snape scoffs but does not step away.

“It’s not far from here, and we’ll have time to transform back. I want to see you, not some Malfoy lookalike.”

“Have you received any Bludgers to your head recently, Potter? Hexes from ill-wishers? This lunacy should stop here.”

Harry brings their bodies flush for a moment and feels that despite his words, Snape is not unaffected. “Come with me,” he whispers. “You’ll like the ride.”

“Is this seriously your best line? Your seduction skills are atrocious.”

“But are they working?”

“If you crash us, I’ll make sure they will be of no use to you ever again.”

Harry laughs and goes to get Sirius’s motorcycle. He glances behind his shoulder to check if Snape is following, and Snape rolls his eyes, looking so like himself that Harry almost forgets about the different face.

Snape mounts the motorcycle behind Harry, running his hands along Harry’s sides, down to his hips, and then back up again. Riding with an erection will be a fun experience. “I loved your mother deeply, but I was never in love with her,” Snape says under the roar of the starting engine. “Trust you to get everything wrong again.”

They speed through the night streets of London, and Harry is giddy with the adrenalin rush of veering through traffic with the wind in his ears and Snape’s hands holding him tight. There is a congestion on the road in front of them, and Harry hits the button on the panel to divert the attention of Muggles around him. The wheels leave the ground, and they soar over the cars and cabs and a cumbersome night bus decked with lights before going even higher, into the starless city sky.

Snape presses impossibly close. “Are you planning to break both of our necks, Potter?” he shouts into Harry’s ear, but Harry could hear he’s not really angry. More importantly, the voice finally sounds right.

Harry looks down at his hands and watches the skin grow coarser, the fingers shrink half an inch. The words ‘To Call R&H’ come through in black ink on the back of his hand, but for the life of him, Harry cannot remember what they’re supposed to mean as he breathes in the earthy cologne with a hint of smoke and sorcery.

They fly just under the clouds until Harry recognises the blurry spot of Grimmauld Place’s roof—the only thing he enjoyed about being in that strange Muggle’s body was the perfect clarity of the world around.

Once on the ground, Harry manages to bring them to the porch without crashing into it and fumbles for his glasses. He puts them on his nose and finally looks at Snape. In the light of the street lantern, his dark eyes seem fathomless, and his hair is windswept and mussed after the flight. Unlike Harry, who is expecting his jeans to pool down from the suddenly narrower hips any moment now, he chose to Polyjuice into a man of a similar build. As strange as it is to see Snape not only out of a robe but out of black as well, the steel-grey button-down looks as good on him as on his disguise.

“Were you trying to actively kill us up there?”

“There are so many magical protections on this thing that it’s safer than Hogwarts Express.” Harry cuts off further grumbling with another kiss. He’s ached to do this throughout the entire ride.

As soon as they stumble into the house, Snape pushes Harry against the wall and drags Harry’s leather jacket from his shoulders, grazing Harry’s neck with his teeth. Harry is powerless to do anything but tilt his head backward, allowing Snape better access, while his hips seek friction.

“You are gagging for it, aren’t you, Potter?” Snape traces a line along his Adam apple with his tongue, and the feeling goes straight to Harry’s cock. “Gagging for my mouth. For my cock.”

“Yes,” Harry hisses and apparates them into the bedroom.

“No patience.”

“I’ve been flying the motorcycle with a hard-on this whole time. I think I’ve been patient enough.”

“Good things come to those who wait, Potter.” Snape smirks, helping Harry out of his polo shirt. He turned his attention to Harry’s left nipple briefly before moving lower to free Harry’s erection.

“You can call me Harry when you have my dick in your hand.”

“If only in these circumstances.” He gives Harry’s cock a few pumps. ‘If you want to retain the same privilege, you are not to abuse it.”

It takes a few moments for Harry’s lust-addled brain to decipher the meaning of the words. When it does, he grins. “Of course, Severus.”

Severus gives his cock one las squeeze and retreats to undo his own button-down. Mesmerised with long fingers dancing from button to button, Harry quickly shucks the last of his clothes to watch him undress.

“You look good in muggle clothes,” Harry says, eyeing the trail of dark hair plunging down from Severus’s navel. He burns to follow it with his tongue.

“My blond alter-ego, you mean.”

“No. You don’t need the disguise. You have...” Harry fumbles for a word Hermione once used.

“I have—?” Severus repeats, amused.

“Gravitas.” Yes, that is it.

“Impressive vocabulary, Potter.” He kicks off his socks and sits next to Harry on the bed, his half-hard cock bobbing. Harry uses the opportunity to straddle him, mouthing the jagged scar on his throat, only half-listening as Severus continues. “I’m using the disguise in London for a much same reason as you do. Our world doesn’t have... establishments like that, so you can always count on a wizard or two in whichever bar or club you set your foot into. Well, you know the scene.”

“Not really.”

“What?” Severus reclines back to see his face.

“This is my second time in a place like that. The first one was when I was photographed for the Prophet. I don’t really have that much experience, not with men.” Harry feels his face warm up.

In one swift motion, Severus flips them over and looks down on him intently. “How much experience are we talking about?”

“Well, that guy had his hand down my pants.” Harry covers his embarrassment by wrapping his legs around Severus’s thighs and bucking up against him. This is the first time he has another man’s cock against his, and he knows with absolute clarity that he’ll never give up this feeling in his life. “Does it bother you?”

Severus’s answer is to kiss Harry furiously, and the slide of their cocks together is the most exciting thing Harry has ever felt, at least until Severus moves lower between his legs and takes him into his mouth.

It’s not Harry’s first blowjob, but Ginny never liked or was any good at giving head, and Harry didn’t ask her for it since he enjoyed reciprocating even less. In contrast, the thought of Severus’s cock makes his mouth water.

Harry fists the sheets, helplessly thrusting up under the onslaught of Severus’s talented tongue, and Severus relaxes his throat to take him even deeper. Severus’s hand finds Harry’s balls to tug at them lightly and then roll between his fingers. It feels like Harry’s very magical core is going to burst in a brilliant explosion of pleasure. He tries to stave off his orgasm but knows he won’t hold out for much longer.

“I’m going to come,” he breathes out between gasps.

Severus raises his head from his cock, drawing involuntary whine of protest from Harry. “Come, then.”

“But I want you to fuck me.”

The hunger in Severus’s eyes sends shivers down Harry’s spine. “You’ll be up for another go in no time,” he says. “Give in, Harry.”

He manages two more shallow sucks while keeping Harry’s gaze, and Harry comes down his throat with a cry, sagging against the sheets.

Harry can’t help a dopey smile. “Better than flying a dragon.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” There is smugness in Severus’s voice. He licks his lips, expression focused, as if he is at some posh tasting event.

Harry stares at those lips, rosy and a bit swollen, as he has never seen them before. It’s the filthiest sight, and he can’t help but draw Severus closer for a kiss. His own bitter taste in Severus’s mouth fills him with giddiness. “Do you want me to suck you off too?”

“I’m too close, and I very much wish to take you on your previous offer.”

“We can do it another time then.” He hopes there will be another time.

Starting slow and unhurried, the kisses quickly turn fiery again, and Harry remembers that Severus hasn’t come yet. He moves away, already feeling the distance acutely.

“There’s lube somewhere here.” He reaches under the bed, blushing furiously.

“As tempting as this sight is, there is no need,” Severus says throatily. “I have brought some with me, which you’ll find of superior quality, especially for your first time.”

As Harry turns back, a small jar flies from the chair where Severus’s clothes lay folded neatly, as opposed to his own, strewn about. Harry spreads his legs wider, his cock already taking an interest again. “Talk to me about superior quality, Severus.”

Severus narrows his eyes at Harry, as if judging if he is mocking him, but then his expression turns predatory, and his voice drops even lower. “You don’t even realise how obscene you look right now, offering yourself to me so wantonly,” he says, waving his wand. The peculiar but not unpleasant sensation of cleaning charms hits Harry, Severus’s magic rich like black treacle. “I’m going to bring your apart with my fingers until you beg me to fuck you.”

Harry moans and bends his knee for easier access. Hearing Severus say fuck is as arousing as having that dexterous finger circle his rim and dip inside.

Settling at his side, Severus reaches to drag the index finger of his other hand along Harry’s lower lip. “Such a foolish endeavour, trying to conceal yourself. Your lips were made for pleasure.” Harry opens them, letting the finger in, circling his tongue around it. “And isn’t it a much better use for your pretty mouth than mouthing off?”

Harry bites the finger playfully, but his attempt to glare is prevented by the finger inside his arse stroking a spot that makes him close his eyes and moan.

“Yes, I see you agree.” Severus slips another finger into his hole as well as into his mouth, and Harry sucks on them, all coherent thoughts leaving his head.

He is dimly aware of the third finger breaching him as he writhes under Severus’s dark gaze, sweat over his brow. The dimly lit room suddenly comes into focus as a half dozen candles spring to life around the bed.

The fingers retreat and Severus snatches one of them to inspect it. “You don’t need to conjure wax phalluses with your mind to tell me you are ready for something more substantial,” he says with a low chuckle, letting the dick-shaped candle float off. “And you are ready, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes,” Harry wishes Severus would different moment to discuss bloody candles when he is dying from need here. “I’m so ready. Get here and fuck me, Severus.”

“It might be easier for your first time you turned on your stomach.”

“I want to see you.” Harry impatiently watches as Severus slicks his cock with the content of his jar. He wants to commit every second of this night to his memory.

“As you wish,” Severus says, and at the next moment, Harry’s legs are over his shoulders.

Severus pushes the tip of his cock into Harry, never once taking his eyes off him. This close, Harry sees that they are actually dark brown, even though it’s hard to notice with his pupils blown so wide. Harry can only look back, as if they are his only anchor.

“Relax.” Severus strokes Harry’s thigh as he enters him slowly.

The stretch is more uncomfortable than painful, and it takes a moment for him to get used to it. Severus bottoms out, balls slapping against his arse, and Harry clenches it experimentally. Severus groans and withdraws, only to slam back again. After a few thrusts, he finds Harry’s prostate again, and Harry gasps at the shock of pleasure that travels through his body. Severus’s face is open, and Harry brings his hand to it, tracing his cheekbone with his thumb. He wants to capture this rapt expression in stone for eternity.

Severus turns his head, planting a kiss on Harry’s palm, and takes Harry’s cock into his hand. Pleasure wells in Harry with each pump, and breathy little moans escape his parted lips.

“Yes,” he pants.

“So delightfully vocal.” Severus pulls out almost completely before snapping his hips forward, and Harry raises his own hips to meet Severus’s thrusts, urging him to speed up. He will definitely feel that in the morning, but for now, this wild rhythm is exactly what he needs.

He is so engulfed by the sensations that the second orgasm takes Harry almost by surprise. His hands wound around Severus’s shoulder, bringing him closer, letting him chase his own release. As Severus’s face goes slack with the last thrusts, open as Harry has never seen it before, he marvels at how well, against all odds, they fit together. For a long moment after he finishes, Severus just stays still, and Harry hopes he agrees.

The stretch is getting uncomfortable, and Severus pulls out, but Harry doesn’t let him go, draws him for a kiss instead, languid and sated.

Finally, they untangle, and Severus sits back, tracing Harry’s extra-sensitive rim still leaking his come. Harry fights the embarrassed blush. His spent cock twitches, but he is pretty sure he won’t be up for another round in some time, no matter how arousing Severus’s greedy expression is.

“You will stay, right?” Harry asks, his voice betraying his uncertainty.

Severus sighs, closing his eyes for a moment, but Harry thinks he has spotted longing in them. “Don’t you have your ‘more or less’ wife to get back to?”

Harry looks at him in confusion. “What wife?”

“Back in the bar, you said—”

Harry thinks back to the conversation. It feels like a lifetime ago. “Oh. I meant... the other thing. I am, more or less. You know, with Voldemort and all.”

Severus stares at him. “The sheer stupidity of this statement is mind-boggling.”

Harry shrugs, tugging Severus to lie down. He’s not going to spoil his afterglow discussing this topic. Severus settles next to him, tension leaving his shoulders. He hits them with cleaning charms, and Harry reaches for his own wand to turn down the light. Before he does that, though, his eyes fall onto the candles still floating over the bed. He reaches to grab one from the air and marvels at the shape it.

“Very lifelike,” Severus snorts.

“Yours, isn’t it?” Harry grins. Severus tries to take the candle from him, but Harry keeps it from his reach. “Uh-uh. I’m keeping it.”

“Brat.”

“ _Nox_.” Harry nestles his head in the crook of Severus’s arm. “If I ever marry, it won’t be to a wife,” he mumbles with a yawn. “Besides, you’d look horrible in a white dress,” he adds in his mind. Or maybe he says it aloud if the pinch he receives is any indication.

* * *

The room is still shrouded in semi-darkness when Harry wakes up. Severus is sitting with his back to him, holding a bronze candle holder from Harry’s bed stand. It’s a phoenix, but not the one spreading its wings in the blazes of glory, although Harry has a couple of those in his attic studio as well. No, it’s a phoenix just before its burning; old, weary and sorrowful.

“I haven’t thought of you as a connoisseur of art,” Severus says without turning.

Harry moves to sit behind him and rub small circles between the spiky shoulder blades. “Maybe it was left to me with the house.”

“Too modern. Besides, the previous owners were not big on phoenixes in their decor, except for the last one, of course. But Black would have never chosen something like that.”

Harry hopes that Sirius would appreciate it, approve of Harry’s decision to channel his pain and hope into art instead of becoming an Auror as most people expected.

“Do you like it, then?” he asks instead.

“It’s exquisite.”

Harry hides his pleased smile in Severus’s neck. “Dick-shaped candles are not the only thing I’m good at making.”

“ _You_ made it?” Severus turns his head to look at him in astonishment.

“The Prophet might be right when calling me a ‘jobless recluse’, but I don’t spend my days just lazing about. I’ll show you more in the morning if you want. But…” Harry lets his hand wander lower. “It’s not quite morning yet, is it?”

Severus carefully puts the candle holder back to the bed stand before turning around and pouncing at Harry.

“Each time I think I figured you out, you surprise me, Harry Potter,” Severus mutters into his shoulder as their cocks slide together, so low that Harry barely hears him.

“We can start learning about each other…” Harry gasps. “At our dinner date tonight.”

“Oh, we’re having dinner date already, are we?” Severus’s laugh is breathy and warm. They slow down their delicious rocking against each other so he can lean backwards and look Harry in the eyes. “No Polyjuice. If we are doing this, Merlin help me, but I want to see your misbegotten face.”

“That goes without saying.”

He traces the oval scar on Harry’s chest. Feather-light, his fingertip barely touches Harry’s skin. “I’m not the easiest man, Harry. Some would say I’m a stone-hearted bastard.”

Harry draws him closer with a victorious little smile. “Luckily for us, I’m good with stone.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
